Treaty
by HeroWorshiper
Summary: A tag for the episode "Peace Pipe." Have you ever wondered why Chet stopped teasing Johnny about his heritage? Offered here is one possible explanation.
1. Chapter 1

A tag for the episode "Peace Pipe." Have you ever wondered how it came to be that Chet stopped teasing Johnny about his heritage? Offered here is one possible explanation.

**Treaty**

"A storm is on its way. Mark my words; as sure as I'm breathing, things are about to get hot." Johnny Gage murmured while his deep brown eyes warily scanned the horizon through the windshield of Squad 51.

Johnny's troubled voice spoke of churning grey clouds streaked by vicious lightening with ominous rolling thunder echoing from cavernous canyon walls foretelling the imminent arrival of torrential sheets of destruction.

Roy DeSoto looked out the window noticing only a cheerful, clear blue sky. "What? Did you get that from your psychic this morning? There's not a cloud in the sky Johnny."

Roy chanced a hasty glance toward his partner. Furrowed brows, a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes indicated the tempest to which Johnny's ominous words had referred.

Dark eyes turned to regard Roy then. "I wasn't talking about the weather Roy." His inflection spoke of blistering rage spawned from darkest oppression.

Johnny blustering was not an uncommon thing. But such an obvious show of strong genuine emotion was, and common sense told Roy to approach this discussion with caution.

Carefully Roy nodded affirmatively, then turned back to concentrate his vision on driving. "Apparently not. So what's up then?"

Johnny's glare bore into Roy then. An exasperated sigh wooshed from Johnny's lips before he again gave voice to his feelings. "Chet!"

A slight smile crept to Roy's lips. Eyebrows flicked upward with dawning understanding. "Ah, he's getting' to you isn't he."

Johnny actually growled then and turned to face Roy's profile. "Yes! And I can't figure what 'ta do about it."

"You know he's just lookin' for you to react Johnny." Roy offered.

"Yeah well, if he's not careful that's exactly what he's gonna get too!" Johnny declared smacking his fist into his palm.

"You're just gonna make it worse if he see's he's getting' to you. Can't you just ignore him?"

Johnny's shoulders slumped, and his head bowed. "I'm tryin' Roy, but he just won't let it go."

Silence fell between the two men for a few moments while Johnny brooded and Roy pondered.

"I guess you could take it up with Cap." Roy suggested.

Johnny sighed heavily. "Nah….I don't want ta' get the guy in real trouble. I mean, it isn't like he's being malicious or something. I think he's just messin' with me. He would have no way of knowing for sure something like this could really bother me."

Roy stole a quick look at his partner. Chet's teasing was incessant, and he could see where it would get annoying to anyone. Johnny never seemed bothered by most of it. But this, this was something different. Johnny wasn't just annoyed, he was angry and, it seemed to Roy maybe even a little hurt.

"Couldn't you just come clean with him Johnny? Tell him to lay off. I mean, deep down Chet really is a good guy. I don't think he realizes just how offensive he's being."

"I tried that Roy, remember. All it got me was that ridiculously decorated ax, and Chet want'in to make a treaty. Remember?" Johnny glowered at Roy while nervously carding his fingers through his hair.

Roy shook his head. After a moment of silence he offered; "Yeah, but Johnny, honestly I think he thought your protests were just part of the gag. Like the joke you made about his 'Indian princess' relative. I mean, it was pretty funny. And, if I do say so myself, you do that movie Indian voice pretty good there pal. But, if he's offending you, I mean for real….. Tell him. But when you do, you can't come across as anything but serious and sincere."

Johnny listened silently, ripples of anger still coloring his demeanor.

Roy peeked at his partner, and seeing his face still bore signs of immanent war offered up his own exaggerated sigh. After another long pause Roy finally spoke. "You know partner, you contribute to the whole teasing about heritage thing with Chet. I mean, you were the one who joked about that sandwich handed down from Indian fore fathers. I mean, come on…. "

Johnny huffed indignantly. "I never started any of that Roy!"

Roy raised a hand in silent surrender. "All right, all right… I never said you did. It's just, if you sat Chet down and told him straight out what your problem was with all his teasing about your heritage, I'm betting he'd understand. I'm not saying the guy teasing you is any kind of right, but you encourage him when you respond with a joke of your own."

Johnny thought to consider what his partner was saying. He supposed because he attempted to deflect Chet with humor it was conceivable Chet might have thought Johnny was playing along with the gag. It was a reasonable assumption. It still didn't make Chet's derogatory remarks about Indians right.

And if Johnny were really honest with himself, perhaps it wasn't just Chet he was angry with. Maybe the strength of the response had more to do with Johnny's own resentments. Life for his people on the reservations was often times harsh. Crushing poverty, unemployment and hostility from the communities surrounding the reservations contributed in equal parts to make a bad situation worse. To add insult to injury, the sociologists and paleontologists treating the inhabitants of the reservation like lab rats only stirred bitterness from a people who had faced generations of wanton disregard for their rights.

Roy backed Squad 51 into the apparatus bay, and after killing the engine, he turned to face his now silent partner.

"Johnny? You o.k.?" Roy's voice was warm with genuine concern.

Johnny exhaled a long breath before turning to face his partner. "Ya know Roy, I was just thinkin' about what you said. Maybe you're right. I really haven't been straight with Chet. And, when I stop to consider things, it might not even be Chet that's makin' me so mad. Him joking about something that has ticked me off all my life just fans the embers of a fire that's been there for me since I was a kid."

"So tell him Johnny." Roy supplied while opening the truck door to disembark.

Johnny opened his door and climbed out of the squad. He inhaled a deep cleansing breath and allowed the rage that had been bubbling within him to slowly seep away. Yeah, he needed to have a serious chat with Chet.

The conversation between Roy and Johnny was cut short when the tones dropped summoning the entire station to a structure fire.

Roy climbed back into the squad beside his partner and turned the key to start the engine. As he pulled from the station, Roy couldn't help but wonder if this structure fire might not just be the calm before the storm he expected to occur later between Johnny and Chet.

**Authors Note:** As she so often does, Ginger inspired this story with one of her challenges. The prompt here was to begin a story with the line "A storm is on its way." When she first tossed this one out, I had visions of writing a descriptive adventurous scene with a wonderful water rescue involving out boys. But, because I love descriptions of that sort, there wouldn't be much challenge in such a piece. So, I cast about for other ways in which to employ that challenge while getting to work on something to help my writing grow. I don't do angst well, so I thought I'd give that a go here. Fear not, I can still write a water rescue story using the same prompt.

Please enjoy, and if the spirit moves you let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Treaty **

**Chapter 2**

Station 51 arrived at the scene of a well involved house fire a short four minutes after departing from quarters. Smoke from the blaze boiled in an imposing plume into the azure sky of a beautiful California day. Brilliant orange and red flames erupted from windows, swirling and licking at the eves above them.

First on scene, Captain Stanley set about deploying arriving companies. The home was not occupied, and thus no primary search was required. John and Roy were dispatched to cover exposures by manning a hose; while Chet and Marco were sent to work with men from 127's ventilating the structure. The rear part of the house seemed not to be involved in the blaze thus far. Fire had yet to erupt from the roof, so perhaps there would be some chance of saving part of the structure.

From his vantage point on the lawn, Johnny looked upward seeing the silhouettes of the rooftop warriors working to ventilate. The bright sun behind the men made it impossible to make out which man was which. Given the frame of mind Johnny had been in just prior to being toned out, he couldn't help but observe how those unseen dark figures above mimicked the scenes from one of Chet's cherished western movies where war parties high upon a windswept hilltop stalked a wagon train in the valley below. The irony that Johnny was stationed on the ground under the dark forms above wasn't lost on the man. The fact that Johnny knew for certain Chet was one of those unidentifiable silhouettes above did little to quash the imagined setting.

While the battle raged, clouds of heat and steam poured from the building. The percussive blows of axes tearing into the rooftop echoed off surrounding structures as if they were the opening musket shots from an ancient battle. Johnny, who had now exchanged lead on the nozzle for a supporting role with Roy on point, suddenly noticed the uneasy sensation of the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to rise. Brown eyes darted around the scene in search of potential danger. Finding nothing immediately amiss, Johnny tried to shake off his physical premonition. He silently attempted to chalk this sense of impending danger up to his imagination carrying his common sense away. But still the sensation remained. Something just felt off!

When it was deemed appropriate, men from 36's were sent inside the blazing structure to mount an interior attack. 116's protected exposure on the other side of the house. With the concentrated efforts of the first alarm assignment of trucks and men, the fire at first began to lose ground and then slowly give up the hold it had carved out within the abandoned home.

Johnny's hyper-vigilance and feeling of approaching danger would not fade though victory over the beast seemed to be within reach. While he continued to support his partner manning the hose, Johnny's gaze repeatedly scanned their surroundings, alert for any signs of trouble.

As if on cue from some omnipotent movie set director somewhere, suddenly a splintering crash of breaking beams echoed from the rooftop. The startled screams from a couple of men alerted the others of a sudden problem. Part of the roof had collapsed! Shouts rang out for assistance, and Johnny and Roy were hastily ordered to leave their hose and help in the rescue of a fellow firefighter.

When the duo of rescue man scaled a ladder to the roof, they discovered there had indeed been a partial collapse. Chet, who had been standing on the edge of the area that gave way now dangled into the heavily smoking hole with only Marco's weakening grasp on his hands keeping him from completely descending into the bowels of hell below. Thick black smoke boiled upward completely obscuring Marco's upper body. Fortunately the men ventilating the roof had been wearing SCBA, so no one would have to worry about suffering ill effects from breathing in toxic heated gasses. But Chet, hanging mere feet from the intense heat of the fire was in danger of cooking like a chicken suspended in a smoker.

Roy and Johnny rushed to grab a hold on their friend and hastily attempted to haul him out of the blistering hot fire pit. But Chet's SCBA tank was caught on the rafters behind him, and the men only succeeded in pulling his head out of the hole. Quickly Johnny reached down and snatched scissors from the pouch on his belt. With no preamble he cut through the straps on Chet's tank while Roy and Marco continued to support Chet's full weight. The super heated steam rising from the opening through which Chet hung was beginning to make things really unpleasant for Chet as it filtered up the inside of his turnout pants searing the tender flesh of his upper calves and thighs.

"Get me out of here guys." Chet pleaded; his voice colored with desperation and pain.

Finally releasing Chet from his tank, Johnny added his full strength to the effort pulling Chet upward at last. "We got ya man."

When Chet's entire body had been removed from the opening, Johnny and Roy supported their friend while half walking and half carrying him toward the ladder.

"I'm fine guys, just a little singed is all." Chet protested vainly as his rescuers continued to propel him away from the scene of the accident.

"We gotta get those turn-out's off ya' Chet, and check you out." Johnny insisted.

By this time the three men had reached the ladder.

"Can you walk down the ladder Chet?" Roy quarried.

Gratefully Chet removed his arm from Roy's shoulder and took a step toward the ladder. "Yeah, I got it." He said.

Searing pain screamed in Chet's inner thighs where his turnout's and uniform pants touched his skin. So intense was the sensation it caused the lineman to almost lose his footing on the rooftop.

Roy grabbed his buddy's arm to stop the fall. "I'm gonna take that as a no Chet." Roy remarked while making eye contact with Johnny. They needed to get Chet stripped and cooled as quickly as possible to minimize any continued burning begun by the intense heat and superheated steam.

Johnny nodded his silent agreement to his partner.

"I got ya Chet." Johnny stated grabbing his friend under both arms and supporting him while Roy stepped down a couple rungs of the ladder.

Reaching up Roy grasped one of Chet's arms and gently pulled the lineman toward him. "All right Chet, let's go." And Roy hauled Chet over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Treaty**

**Chapter 3**

Chet would have objected to the indignity of being pulled over Roy's shoulder, but the inner parts of his upper calves and thighs were beginning to shriek agonizingly. So with only an eye roll as protest, Chet allowed himself to be laid over his buddies shoulder as if he were a wounded cowboy being draped over the saddle of a trusty steed. While hefted down the ladder the lineman was afforded a nauseatingly contorted, upside down view of the trip, and he was extremely grateful when Roy reached the ground and gently lowered him to his feet.

Before Chet knew what was happening, Johnny had descended the ladder behind him, and between the two paramedics the injured fireman found himself half carried half walked several steps away from the smoldering home. Without any warning, Roy and Johnny began to strip Chet of his turnouts. Next scorched uniform pants were sliced from his legs, socks were removed and tossed aside before Chet found himself compelled to sit on a disposable blanket someone had spread on the ground beside squad 51. Chet's uniform shirt and t-shirt unceremoniously disappeared, and he suddenly found himself lying down being draped by a clean white sheet.

Looking up at Johnny and Roy, Chet dazedly watched as one began to pour copious amounts of cooling saline on the burned portions of his legs while the other deftly used a pair of trauma sheers to relieve him of his boxers, the only remaining threads of clothing between him and naked.

The paramedics had been so fast in their actions, Chet's head almost spun. In less than three minutes from the moment his feet had again touched mother earth, Chet wore not a stitch of clothing, and was being examined by Roy.

"Hey!" Chet finally managed to eek out a complaint. "Did ya' really have to strip me? I mean come on guys! We're out here in front of God and everyone!"

Johnny only smiled pleasantly at Chet while reaching for the Biophone.

Roy made eye contact with his patient and nodded affirmatively. "You've got some steam burns here on the insides of your legs, and we needed to see where else you might be burned. Looks like you got some milder burns on your wrists and your belly."

While Roy was speaking he took a pulse and respiration, and then turned to call out numbers to Johnny. Then Chet felt the blood pressure cuff applied to his arm and Roy quickly obtained a reading.

Chet was distracted by watching Roy take his blood pressure and didn't notice Johnny assembling an I.V. All Chet knew was that suddenly he found himself looking up into Johnny's face as Roy moved over to the Biophone to report on his condition. Chet felt the quick application of a tourniquet and much to his dismay a very long needle wielded by Johnny was headed for Chet's arm.

"What the heck! Come on now! I don't need that!" Chet almost whined while trying to extricate his arm from Johnny's vice like grip.

"Now Chet, those burns are gonna suck up fluid from your body. Dr. Brackett's ordered an I.V. for you, and ya do need it. So, hold still." Johnny's tone was soothing yet commanding.

Even before Johnny had gotten half way through his comment Chet felt the sting of the needle piercing flesh and knew he'd been speared already. Tubing was attached to the cannula, and tape was applied to his arm before Chet really had time to fully realize he wasn't being given a choice about whether there would be an I.V.

Johnny taped his handiwork in place and smiled reassuringly at his reluctant patient. "There ya go Chet. See, all done. Didn't hurt a bit, right?"

Actually Chet wasn't all that sure if the I.V. was painful. The burns on his body were beginning to hold his attention captive. His only reply to Johnny was an unintelligibly grumbled response.

"How are ya' doin' Chet?" Johnny quarried, an expression of genuine concern coloring his features.

"I guess I'm all right." Chet grunted. "Tell ya what, I am sure startin' to feel these steam burns though.

Roy had returned to his side then, and Chet looked up to see Roy holding yet another needle.

"Aw come on guys!" Chet pleaded. "Don't stick me again!"

Roy smiled sympathetically. "Calm down Chet, I'm not gonna stick you. See, the nice thing about getting an I.V. is you can get intravenous meds without getting any more needle sticks."

Roy handed the hypodermic off to Johnny.

"This'll help with the pain from those burns." Roy soothed.

Chet felt a heavenly tingling warmth slide into his arm, and turned just in time to see Johnny finish pushing the remainder of the morphine from the syringe.

Johnny grinned at his friend. "You'll be feelin' better before ya know it."

While the narcotics began to mingle with Chet's blood cells, the lineman's mind commenced to drift. His gaze focused on the sure swift movements of his paramedic pals as they carefully bundled him up for transport. The gentle manner in which he was treated reminded him that though he and Johnny often verbally sparred, Gage was a skilled and competent medic who truly cared for his patients.

Roy hastily gathered equipment in preparation to leave the scene with Chet. While he worked, Roy kept a surreptitious watch over their patient. The effects of the narcotics were becoming visible on the man. Lines of pain that had etched themselves into Chet's face were fading to be replaced by a glassy eyed euphoric expression.

"How 'ya doin' there Chet?" Roy leaned over and placed a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder while Johnny and the two men from Mayfair were situating him on the gurney.

Slowly Chet's gaze moved from Johnny who he had been watching intently, to Roy. "Um…yeah… I'm doin' a'right." His speech came haltingly with a slight slur.

Johnny glanced up flashing Roy a crooked grin. "Higher'n'a kite is more like it." He looked down on Chet and snickered.

"S'your fault Gage." Chet complained mildly. "You guys are the best though. This stuff is really super duper."

Roy and Johnny both chuckled.

"You just relax Chet. We'll have you at Rampart in no time." Johnny again smiled at Chet before turning to head for the squad.

"Hey…you're not riding in with me?" Chet called.

Johnny turned mid stride to look at Chet and nodded his head in a negating gesture. "Nope…. You're all Roy's."

Roy rolled his eyes, and then turned to gaze at Chet being wheeled toward the open doors of the Mayfair rig. "Just relax Chet. Everything's gonna be all right."

"All right? All right? It's gonna be great…." Then Chet looked around suspiciously. "Uh, hey Roy….I just realized I'm not wearing any clothes. You didn't happen to see who took my clothes did ya? I mean it's hard to believe someone would snatch a fella's clothing from him. I was wearin turnout gear and everything….." Chet's rambles continued while he was loaded into the truck.

"It's gonna be all right Chet. You just relax. We've got everything under control." Roy stuffed his gear into the ambulance and climbed in beside Chet.

"Hey, it was Gage who took my clothes wasn't it. He's been trying to figure out a way to get even with me since that thing with the pipe. I can take a joke as good as the next guy. But, really? Stealing a man's clothing while he's working a fire. That's got to be the lowest."

Roy realized it would be hopeless to talk to Chet while he was under the influence of the narcotics, so he silently shook his head while fitting the BP cuff on Chet's arm.

But morphine had Chet's mouth on high gear by now, and there was no getting away from the verbal diarrhea. "The guy couldn't scalp me 'cause that'd be illegal. So he stole my clothes. Why didn't you protect me Roy?"

Roy finished the vitals check he was doing, and then placed a solid hand on Chet's shoulder. Leaning over so he was directly in Chet's field of vision Roy said: "Why don't you just close your eyes and rest. We'll be at Rampart before you know it."

"Yeah but, I'm naked! This has to be Gage's idea of a joke. What? Are you in on it?"

Roy sighed heavily while consciously stifling the eye roll that wanted to come. Again he got into Chet's visual field, this time speaking slowly and distinctly. "Chet, we removed your gear and clothes because you've been burned. There's no joke being played on you. Now relax and rest. We'll be at Rampart in a few minutes."

"Should'a known you'd defend Gage. You two stick together." Chet grumbled.

It took every ounce of self discipline Roy had to not tell Chet to shut up. Instead Roy offered his most comforting paramedic smile saying, "Everything's gonna' be just fine Chet. Just relax, o.k.? We'll have you at Rampart any minute now."

Chet sighed deeply and closed his eyes. The morphine had his head whirling and his brains jumbled. Thoughts wandered aimlessly away. He couldn't even remember what he and Roy had been talking about only seconds ago. Without another word Chet began to let the constant sounds of the sirens blaring lull him into a light slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

**Treaty**

**Chapter 4**

Thanks to the Morphine, the trip to Rampart was a swirling haze for Chet. Roy's concerned face would occasionally appear in his awareness, and then be gone just as suddenly as it came. Amorphous thoughts twirled in bright blurs of color inside his brain like Native Dancers involved in timeless ritual dance. Through the kaleidoscope of images Chet could only ferret out one constant. Sure tanned fingers and compassionate brown eyes ministering to him before the cacophony began. Roy's presence seemed only to be a rock solid anchoring force which allowed Chet's nebulous thoughts to spin more freely.

Roy carefully monitored his patient during transport. Chet seemed to be much more comfortable than he had been before the analgesic had been administered. The Irish lineman dozed lightly wearing an expression that was a mix of wonder, awe and confusion. Roy seriously doubted Chet would remember anything said to him during the trip, and thus only offered minimal check in remarks periodically.

When the ambulance arrived at Rampart, Johnny was there to meet them. Chet was hastily transferred from ambulance to hospital treatment room. Though his glassy eyes were open, he didn't seem to be interested in commenting on the change of venue.

After leaving Chet in the capable hands of Dr. Brackett and several nurses, Roy and Johnny headed for the nurse's station to re-supply.

"Man, Chet seemed pretty out of it." Johnny remarked while scouring a drawer for syringes of an appropriate size.

Roy chuckled softly. "Yeah, he was."

Finding what he had sought, Johnny handed a bundle of syringes over to Roy. "Looked like he had some pretty intensive areas of second degree burns on the inside of his thighs. That's got'ta smart!"

Roy nodded affirmatively while stowing materials in the drug box. "Yeah, I'm glad Brackett Okayed him for morphine. I'd hate for the guy to suffer."

Johnny nodded in agreement while continuing to hand supplies over to Roy.

"He'll be all right in a couple of days though." Roy remarked, mostly to fill the silence.

Concern etched in every movement, Johnny's gaze furtively darted toward the treatment room door behind which Chet had disappeared.

Roy reached over and clapped Johnny on the shoulder. "Want me to step in and check on him?"

Johnny grinned at his partner. "Well, I was sort'a hopin' Dixie would come out and give us some news. So, yeah… How 'bout we both drop in?"

Before Roy could reply, Johnny's long legs had already covered the few feet to the treatment room door. Roy shook his head in silent wonder. As much as Chet and Johnny sparred, the two obviously cared for one another. Roy supposed the constant bickering was the two men's way of connecting.

Johnny knocked at the treatment room door and entered before anyone inside could answer. Peering inside he met Dixie's gaze. "How's he doin'?"

Turning from her patient Dixie smiled at Johnny, and Roy who stood in the doorway behind. "He's doing fine. We'll probably keep him for a couple of days, but he should heal nicely."

Relief washed over both paramedics'.

Johnny offered the head nurse a stunningly brilliant smile. "Well all right! That's what we like to hear."

"That's great!" Roy remarked simultaneously.

"He's still out of it from the Morphine. But don't worry boys, I'll keep you informed. You guys should probably go on back to the station. We'll take good care of him." Dixie shooed Johnny and Roy back out the door, closing it behind them.

Heading the call of duty, the two now smiling paramedics trotted out of the Emergency room and climbed into squad 51 to head back to the proverbial 'barn.'

When Chet awoke, he found himself awash in white linen in a room that appeared to be gleamingly clean. After a few minutes of foggy mental processing, he finally came to the conclusion he must have ended up in Rampart's burn ward. Glancing around, Chet discovered he was still connected to the IV Johnny had inserted, and a bit more investigation revealed that frequent restroom runs would not be required as he was the reluctant owner of his very own Foley catheter.

Attire for the occasion was one of those flimsy hospital Johnnies without underwear as the top half and insides of his upper thighs were carefully bandaged. Chet found he was lying on a super comfortable bed in what he would have considered a less than ideal position. His legs were elevated and more than slightly spread apart.

Little time was left for Chet to consider his situation as a nurse entered his room clad in surgical scrubs and gown. Brilliant sapphire eyes greeted Chet from atop her green surgical mask.

"Hello Mr. Kelly." She said in a friendly tone which carried a smile that Chet could almost see. "How are you feeling?"

Chet shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "I guess all right. You guys seem to have me pretty doped up. Makes it pretty tough to think."

Chet felt a pleasant coolness on his arm when his nurse uncovered it and fitted a blood pressure cuff in place.

"Well Mr. Kelly, be grateful for the medication right now. You have some pretty significant second degree burns on your legs. We'll want to keep you comfortable at least for the next couple of days while things begin healing."

After processing what he'd been told, Chet begin to wonder exactly how much was burned. It didn't feel like his most valuable possessions had been toasted, but given the amount of medication he'd likely been given, he wondered if he would even know.

"Uh, ma'am, just exactly how much of me is burned anyway?" He hoped his inquiry didn't come across as desperate as it felt inside his head. But he _had_ to ask. He really needed to know if he'd been the guest of honor at a weenie roast without realizing it.

If his nurse's facial expression changed even in the slightest as a response to his almost desperate plea for information, her mask obscured it. Instead she gently patted his forearm. "The upper halves of your anterior and medial thighs have second degree burns. There are also some small areas around your knees both anterior and posterior with second degree burns. A small place on your upper right calf also has a second degree burn. Small areas of your wrists and a large area of your belly have some first degree burns. Things will be a little uncomfortable for a while, but you should heal up nicely within two or three weeks."

An audible sigh of relief escaped Chet. If it hadn't been for the analgesics he might have only thought his next remark, thus leaving it unsaid. Still drugged though, his mouth didn't have a filter and he simply blurted out what he'd been thinking. "Oh God! Phew! I was worried for a minute there we might need to fit me for a hot dog bun."

For just an instant the nurse stood poised in stunned silence. It took her a few seconds to realize exactly what Chet had been worried about. When it dawned on her, she couldn't help but grin. With a small chuckle she patted her patient. "No worries Mr. Kelly. The steam caused only some very minor irritation and redness of your genitalia. Nothing to worry about. That'll probably be much better by morning."

Chet's face took on some minor reddening at this point. He hadn't meant to say what he'd been thinking at all. But the nurse's response was so matter of fact; he couldn't help the blush that crept up his neck into his checks. No doubt she had actually gotten a pretty good look at his package, and was reporting on personal observation.

Chet was mortified. Yes, it would be safe to say he was not a fan of being a hospital patient.

"Relax Mr. Kelly. It's my job to take care of you. There is very little under the sun that I have not seen in this career." The nurse offered in an attempt to comfort her obviously distressed patient.

Chet gulped audibly. Yeah, this was embarrassing. Reverting to his standard bravado and humor technique for deflection, he finally replied. "Yeah, well…. I'm just not used to showing everything off to a pretty lady without at least buying her dinner first."

Sweet, light feminine laughter filled the room while the burn ward nurse went about her job administering another dose of analgesic to her patient.

When she was done, she gently tucked the sheets around Chet's chin saying, "Ah, but your department will be paying the hospital bills. That'll be more expensive than even a nice dinner. We'll just have to make do with the circumstances as they stand for now."

With another gentle pat to Chet's arm, she turned and left him to doze.


	5. Chapter 5

**Treaty**

**Chapter 5**

"Say Roy. Do ya really think it'd help if I talked to Chet seriously about all those cracks he makes about Indians?" Johnny was leaning against the passenger's side door of squad 51 while the duo of medics traveled from Rampart to station 51.

Roy shrugged noncommittally. "I can't guarantee anything Johnny, but it's got to be better than having to put up with him peppering away at you with all that stuff when it really is offending you.

The sound of Johnny's long exhale filled the quiet in the truck. For a few minutes neither man spoke.

"I'm just worried it'll egg him on if he knows he's gettin' to me is all." Johnny finally responded.

After another extended silence Roy finally spoke. "Look Johnny, if you don't let him know, he'll keep bugging you. At least if you and he come to some sort of understanding…. I think he's really a good guy, deep down. That prankster thing he does is just his way to…. connect maybe? I don't think the guy is a racist or anything. " Roy's words were left dangling. He didn't really think Chet was a racist, but then again, he couldn't swear to anything given the wily Irishmen's occasionally italic antics.

Johnny's heavy sigh reverberated through the sudden hush within the squad's cab. He didn't think Chet was a racist either, just a tenacious irritant. Though he knew Roy was correct, the idea of even approaching such a conversation with the sly Irishman was uncomfortable.

Roy stopped the truck in the center lane of 223rd street, and backed the rig into her spot in the apparatus bay.

Johnny opened the squad door preparing to step out before finally replying to Roy. "I guess you're right Roy. I really gotta sit down and have a serious talk with Chet."

Roy offered a small grin to his partner. "It won't be all _that_ bad Johnny. Give the guy a chance."

A slamming squad door and Johnny's incoherent grumbled reply were Roy's answer before both men headed for the kitchen and hopefully a fresh cup of coffee.

Little time was afforded the paramedics to continue the conversation they'd had about Chet. The afternoon brought a large warehouse fire that kept everyone running for several hours. Before the engine had been released from the fire, Roy and Johnny were called away for a man down run.

For the paramedics, the hits kept on coming throughout most of the evening into the late night until somewhere after midnight when they were able to finally make it back to their bunks for a little shut eye. Sleep didn't last more than a few hours though, because just before four in the morning the paramedics were summoned to a woman in labor. They'd no sooner delivered their patient and her child to Rampart before they and the engine were summoned to an early morning motor vehicle accident on the 405. Following an extensive cleanup of the MVA, the men of Station 51 finally made it back to quarters almost an hour and a half after regular shift change.

"Man, I'm beat!" Johnny declared, gratefully slipping from the squad.

Roy slammed his door resoundingly. "Yeah, me too. I'm ready to get home so I can get a little sleep!"

A giant, exaggerated Gage yawn echoed Roy's sentiment.

Roy had to grin at his partner's antics. "Come on Junior, let's head home.

* * *

The unsavory scent of hospital food woke Chet from his late afternoon nap in the Rampart burn ward. He opened his eyes to see yet another gowned, masked woman standing before him.

"Hello Mr. Kelly. I am Ramona. I'll be your aide for this evening. I've brought your dinner. Would you like me to help you adjust the bed so you can sit up to eat?"

Chet blinked sleepily while attempting to process the woman's words.

For her part, Ramona moved over and began to gently raise the head of the bed. She realized her medicated patient might be suffering some cognitive deficits.

Ramona slid the rolling table at the foot of Chet's bed up so that it would be accessible to him. The cover was whisked from atop the food plate with a small flourish, and Ramona offered a pleasant "_Bon Appetit_."

Chet stared listlessly at the proceedings. Food held little appeal for him at that particular moment. Vile aromas wafting from the tray did little to entice appetite. He wrinkled his nose with disdain.

"Yeah I know, hospital food isn't the greatest." Ramon's friendly voice interrupted Chet's dazed ruminations. "But you really should try to eat some of it at least."

Chet's vacant expression and small affirming nod did little to convince Ramona he would actually sample the provisions before him. "I'll be back in a little while. At least try a little, o.k?" She turned and hastily left Chet's room before the man could even begin to form a reply.

Later, if quarried Chet likely would not have been able to confirm or deny what, if anything he had consumed from the tray of food. He would vaguely recall attempting to comply, and waking at some later point to realize the tray had vanished. Analgenesia* caused his first evening at hotel Rampart to disappear into an amorphous cloud of oblivion.

The following morning dawned noisily for Chet with the sounds of hospital routine interrupting his slumber. Just before breakfast arrived, Chet noticed with detached disinterest his rumbling tummy indicating he might be hungry though; due to pain medication he sensed no real hunger pangs.

He felt more awake than he had been the previous evening although he supposed his current state of awareness lurked far below the normal consciousness continuum he considered customary for him. Given his thoughts appeared to be present in his brain, yet he seemed to be unsure if they were actually his or simply some passing moth like entity, Chet concluded he must still be pretty high from hospital pharmacy goodies.

When his meal was delivered, Chet peered with trepidation at his discouraging breakfast tray. "_I gotta get out of here soon, or I'm gonna starve to death. This stuff is just gross!"_ This insect like thought flitted through his awareness while he involuntarily curled his nostrils inward in a vain attempt to shelter his olfactory nerves from the undesirable assault now being waged upon them by the freshly delivered food.

The chow was definitely a non-starter Chet decided. With his inaudible choice made, Chet's swirling nebulous thoughts fluttered to other matters. He supposed the price for the increased awareness he felt was realization of physical discomfort. His bodily South Pole areas were attempting to stab their scorched agony through the ethereal fog of medication he'd enjoyed previously. Glancing under the table where his legs were swathed loosely in linen, Chet hazarded a peek at his lower regions.

What he could see of his upper thighs bore a striking resemblance to rotting raw meat. Bright red patches streaked with darker silver and black tones spoke of something one might expect to find in an unrefrigerated butcher's case. Moving one leg experimentally he discovered the putrid appearance of his flesh had not stifled nerve endings which were beginning to sing with agonizing intensity.

Continuing his investigation, Chet noticed with considerable relief his favorite male bits were only slightly tinged with pink, and by comparison to his thighs, the nerves in the nest of his family jewels were happy as little clams nestled in a cool ocean bed. He sighed with at least that small piece of relief, and allowed the clean white linen he'd been lightly holding to gently drop back on to his lap.

Allowing his head to fall back onto his pillow, Chet let his eyes slip closed. Perhaps a nap might be in order.

But alas, napping was not to be a part of Chet's immediate future. For just as he snuggled his head more comfortably into the pillow, his room door swished open to admit a protective clothing clad nurse bearing a tray of supplies.

"Good morning Mr. Kelly." Her voice was cheery.

Chet snapped his eyes open. "Uh, hey…." He mumbled. He recognized the pretty blue eyes of the nurse he'd met on his first day in the burn ward.

The nurse sat her laden tray on the bedside table and glanced at Chet's breakfast tray. "Are you finished with your breakfast?"

Chet wearily pushed the offending food away from him. "Uh, yeah. I'm finished. And if I ate that stuff I might be _finished off_! Please, if you could take this away, I'd appreciate it."

The nurse tsked softly. "It doesn't look as if you ate much of it."

Chet mournfully shook his head. "No Ma'am. I'm sorry to foil someone's evil plot to kill me off. I just couldn't do it. Guess my iron stomach doesn't stand a chance against hospital food."

"Oh, don't worry about it Mr. Kelly. We have other ways to kill you off. There's always plan B."

Chet's eyes had begun to slide closed when his ears registered her words. Baby blues popped open widely in silent surprise. Bushy brows arched toward his hairline. He gulped loudly. "Uh…. I was just kidding…?" His voice was soft and pleading.

The nurse chuckled wickedly. "Well, I might have been teasing too. But, it is time for me to clean and treat your burns. I figured since you may likely decide the treatment was designed as some sort of medieval torture, I'd give you a place to lodge those disgruntled thoughts before we got started."

Chet sighed. '_Oh, this is just great! Just what I needed. A nurse in the burn ward with gallows humor._'

Chet's expression must have reflected his thoughts because his nurse gently patted him on the arm, and brandished a loaded hypodermic needle. "Any objections to me giving your pain medication before we begin?" Her twinkling blue eyes smiled at him from atop her surgical mask.

Chet noisily released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Ah geez! Phew! There for a minute I thought maybe Gage had sent you to get even with me for all those pranks I've pulled on him over the years. Uh….YES PLEASE, I'll take that pain medication before we begin!"

Soft feminine laughter accompanied the flash of warmth delivered by the hypodermic as the nurse emptied it into his IV port.

* Analgenesia - analgesic amnesia Authors poetic license.


End file.
